April. Already? Lots of stuff going on at work, guess that makes me forget the time. Glad as well.
Another marathon evening session of talks with V, in tears because she’s had a tough day and her mother is coming down on her, and her dad calls to yell at her because he can’t yell at his wife, and there’s too much to do with the youth academy teaching, and she’s yelled at Nicolas, and nothing will ever be good and ya da ya da ya da. Heard it all before. And still I sit in, and address the issues, one by one, and it’s the same conclusions, and still it’s in vain.
I wonder how my life would’ve been if I’d married a someone who had far fewer issues with her childhood. Whose deficit I didn’t constantly have to cover. Who’d allow me fewer worries in daily life. Who’d basically know how to take care of herself. I don’t blame her, V, for not being able to deal with it, for what she’s told is hurrendous and it’s clear her rights as a child were repeatedly violated. But, in short, I wonder what kind of spouse she’d be if her mother didn’t have an as yet undiagnosed mental illness (most likely some borderline thing). It would be a happier home, this. Fewer conflicts. Not that she doesn’t carry it well, but it’s certainly not all it could’ve been, this marriage, and I still fear than in ten year’s time I’ll wake up and decide that I’ve spend too much of my life juggling her and her emotional baggage, and that I’ll start to ponder what I could’ve done with that time and energy I’ve hitherto invested.